An Imperfect Life

 

1. Early Days

‘Pat quick!  Give me yer prayer book.’

I recognised the panic in my Grandmother’s voice and quickly handed her my latest acquisition – a present from her - a hard, white, shiny prayer book with some coloured pictures inside.  Following her gaze I saw my father on the other side of the road astride his motor bike.  His arms were folded and with his clenched jaw and lowering brow he looked grim as only Dad could look grim.

  Gran - my maternal grandmother - was my greatest influence.  It was because of her I eventually became a nurse.  It was the thirties - we were the cinema generation and with the cheap seats costing tuppence we could go twice a week

 Inspired by Katherine Hepburn and Ginger Rogers I planned my future.

‘A’m going to be an actress when I grow up Gran.’

  Gran gave one of her sniffs and folded her arms over her capacious bosom,

 ‘Not if I’ve owt to do with it yer not! Actresses are no better than they should be!  They ‘ave to sleep wi’producer to get on.’

‘But what d’ye mean Gran?’  I was very young at the time.

‘Never you mind lady – you ask too many questions for yer own good.’

End of conversation.

 She was built like Queen Mary – our Queen’s Granny I mean - not the ship; regal and deep-bosomed with the demeanour of a duchess until she lost her temper.  Then she would become a positive virago and the family would take to the hills until Granddad - a man of few words - would glare at her and call out in his booming voice:

’OH WOMAN!’ and I could feel the furniture reverberate as Gran subsided.

 They were an unusual couple: Granddad an English atheist and Gran an Irish Roman Catholic.  He was an engineer and he and Gran led a good life travelling in South Africa and Portugal with their small baby – my Mum.

Then one day Granddad got his right hand caught up in the heavy machinery he worked with.  Fortunately they managed to release him but he was left with a badly crippled hand and - no longer able to do his job - was pensioned off.  With the insurance money they bought a grocer's shop and settled in Lancashire near the rest of Gran’s family.
  Never one to be dictated to by circumstance, Gran left Granddad holding the fort, the shop and their small daughter and took herself off to Edinburgh to train to be a midwife.  She was successful, returned home, became the local midwife and from then on half the babies in the valley were delivered by her and she became a respected member of the community.   Travelling on the local buses with Gran you could bet your bottom dollar you would be told at least a couple of times:

‘See that lad/lass over yon? That’s one o’mine!’

  Granddad made a success of the shop – he loved people and they warmed to him. From humble beginnings – a terraced house in Cumberland – he had travelled the world, was well read and hadn’t lost the common touch. I thought he was the best Granddad in the whole world and loved going to stay with them in the holidays.

As soon as I got there I would give him a big kiss, trying to avoid his tickly moustache and say:

‘Please Granddad can I ‘elp  in’t shop?’

I would be given a miniature striped apron-like his - and was allowed to do simple tasks.  I could only just see over the top of the counter but I could reach things at a low level to stop Granddad having to bend down and I burrowed in the dark, scary  corners helping to find things.  Scooping up dried peas from the sack to put in a paper bag was my speciality.  If ever I had a sore throat I would be given a spoonful of a deep purple, sticky liquid from an enormous glass bottle, kept well out of reach.  Indian cough medicine was how Granddad described it

There were no refrigerators and the shop was full of interesting smells.  It must have faced north because in the window was an enormous pat of butter on a large oval dish and two ridged wooden paddles to handle it.  After Granddad died the plate was kept and is still used today for the turkey at Christmas

    The Rossendale valley where we lived (sometimes known as the Valley of Death) in NE Lancashire was surrounded by hills which were soot – blackened  from the spirals of smoke emanating from the mills, factories and all the coal burning houses. We kept the fires going winter and summer.  Even the sheep were black.

  The main road alongside the River Irwell was lined with slipper factories and cotton mills.  Dad worked at the Globe, and my Mum at Lambert Howarth’s.  Four times a day you would hear the clang of clog irons on the cobbles as the workers marched down Edgeside Lane in the morning and returned back up the hill at dinner time, down again in the afternoon  and back after the hooters had sounded at 5.30pm.    Maddie, Evan and me were latch-key children.  Money was tight but every Thursday the ‘order’ would be delivered from Granddad’s shop.

On Saturday Gran would take three buses to come and see us. 

She would sit down briefly; have a cup of tea and a slice of Mum’s malt loaf then say:

‘Cum on Pat we’ll go down t’ Scout Bottom and get sum fruit an’ veg,’

 She would make sure that as well as Granddad’s groceries we had adequate vitamins in our diet.  As I was quite tiny I was constantly dosed with Cod liver Oil and Malt – to little effect - but I was quite healthy.

  We lived in a brand new council house; a small, three bed-roomed, end of terrace, with a piano taking up most of the living space.  We would all cluster round the ever burning open fire which heated the oven, the water and left brown scorch marks on our legs.  The oven shelves, wrapped in a towel kept the beds warm in winter and the larder, facing north was as cold as any fridge. We were poor but well loved and content.

  We kids had all been brought up in the Unitarian chapel which is why Gran panicked when she saw Dad that Sunday morning.  He knew very well where we had been.

 Gran used to take me to the Catholic Church every Sunday when I was staying with them.

‘No need to tell yer Dad Pat’, she would say.  Granddad – very wisely - kept well out of it.

 I really enjoyed the theatricality of the Roman Catholic service; the ornate costumes, the scattering and smell of incense, the devoutness and above all the knowledge that it was naughty and I really shouldn't be there.  It was anathema to my Unitarian parents.

 Prayer book or no prayer book when Dad saw us he knew exactly where we had been and what we had been up to and I felt my new found holiness dissipating fast.
'Right,’ he growled, 'Get in’t sidecar. Yer comin’ ’ome!' 

 For once Gran was speechless.

 

  I can’t remember how I found out that Maddie was conceived out of wedlock although a favourite pastime of mine was to sit in the stairs steps and listen to grown ups talk.   It was never really mentioned until my last chat with Mum.  She was aged 90, and about to emigrate to America to live with Maddie who was - by then - widowed.

All I knew was that Mum had left the Grammar school as a teenager and was working in a mill when she met Dad and they fell in love.  She got pregnant and they were married – she was just seventeen.

  As we waited for the taxi to take her to the airport I knew it could be my last chance to ask her about it.

‘Mum d’ you mind if I ask you something?’

  Encouraged by her silence I went on:

‘Mum how did Gran react when she found out you were pregnant?’

‘Well she wasn’t best pleased,’ Mum said with one of her sniffs

‘But did she try to persuade you not to have it?’

Mum looked horrified.

‘Eeeh no Pat!  Never!  Yer Gran and Granddad were my friends.  They did everythin’ they could to ‘elp us get married before Maddie were born.’

‘But what did Dad think about that?’  Mum shook her head.

‘I don’t think we should be talkin’ about this Pat.’

‘But Mum you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.’

I knew she had had a hard time in the early days - from such august bodies as The Ladies Aid at Sunday School.  She was a teenager, pregnant and an ex- Catholic.  She must have been very vulnerable.

 Mum went into one of her silences when you never knew if she had said all she was going to say or if there was more to come.  After a lengthy pause she said:

‘Well yer Dad and me alus wanted to get married but we knew with me being R.C. and ‘im Chapel it wouldn’t be allowed.’

I wanted to ask more questions but didn’t want to overstep the mark.

 I marvelled at Mum; outwardly quiet and gentle but - like Gran - she could make things happen.  Did she get pregnant deliberately?  The more I thought about it the more likely it seemed.

 It was very shocking in those days to have an unmarried, teen- age daughter who was pregnant and involved with a person of a different religion.  I’m really proud of my grandparents.  They took the whole situation in their stride and did all they could to support the two young people.

Gran made sure they were married before the birth and four months after they were married delivered my sister Maddie the same year 1927.  Two and a half years later I appeared and after another two years my brother Evan was safely delivered - all by Gran.

Meanwhile back in the thirties our family of five became a family of four as my sister Maddie, aged six, left home.